Equitable Solutions
by LadyDivine91
Summary: Aziraphale tries to come up with a way to stop Crowley from speeding through city streets at 90 mph. Crowley has some solutions of his own. Aziraphale x Crowley


"You go too fast for me, Crowley," Aziraphale says, bracing with his palms pressed against the Bentley's leather seats as they fly down the street. "Actually, you go too fast for everyone! Speed limits are not suggestions, you know!"

"If people leave their homes, they need to accept a certain level of personal responsibility," Crowley answers coolly, swerving and barely missing a man walking his dog just to jettison into the path of oncoming traffic.

"That's not … that's not how that works!" Aziraphale cries, arms flailing, searching for purchase where none exists.

"That's what's wrong with the world today," Crowley continues in a low, irritated tone. "Lack of personal responsibility ..."

Aziraphale swallows hard, eyes glued to the road. He can't help it. There's a degree he feels that if he keeps his eyes open and focused on the pedestrians around them, he can ensure their safety simply by willing it, but logically he knows that's not going to work. He can't miracle each individual human out of the road. That'll attract too much attention. He has to do something here and now to remedy this situation.

There's only one thing he can think of, but he's not too sure how effective it will be.

Crowley _loves_ driving his car.

Scooching by inches, Aziraphale slides across the seat, wedges himself into Crowley's side, and begins kissing his neck.

The gesture takes Crowley by surprise, but it doesn't slow him down. He simply smirks.

"If you're trying to get me to slow down, angel, I think you might be going about it the wrong way."

Aziraphale crumbles a smidgen inside. He'd been hoping to tempt Crowley's foot off the gas pedal, if only a hair, but as temptation has always been Crowley's department, Aziraphale would settle for a hint of distraction. If he had been distraction enough, he could have persuaded Crowley to slow down, possibly pull over.

But as it seems they've sped up, he's failed at that task.

Aziraphale sighs in defeat, ready to slink his way back to his seat and hold on for dear life (so to speak) when his gaze locks on a trickling stream of black and white further down the road, and his eyes become astronomical.

"Crowley, there're nuns," he points out.

"Yes, yes," Crowley returns.

"Crowley, you're going to hit them!"

"Not if they move out of the way."

"Crowley …" Aziraphale counts down the line - one … two … eight … ten … fourteen nuns in all. The slowest of the bunch, bent over a walker, takes steps that can only be described as snail-esque in speed "… you need to stop now, please!"

"Not likely …"

"Crowley …" Aziraphale's eyes bounce back and forth between the nuns and the demon driving the car. "Crowley … _Crowley_!"

Aziraphale hears the nuns scream as they spot certain death approaching. Unprepared to watch over a dozen women of the cloth explode on impact with Crowley's ballistic missile of a vehicle, he throws his arms over his eyes and squeezes them shut, vaguely aware of a bright light outside that appears to consume them.

A second later, the screaming stops. And the car stops.

It doesn't skid to a stop. It simply ceases movement.

Cautiously, Aziraphale lowers his arms from his eyes.

The city, the streets, the garden they were heading to, the people in mortal danger, have all disappeared.

Aziraphale looks around them at the familiar expanse of white, cloudy nothingness.

They've been here before. Crowley has brought them here before. Aziraphale likes it here.

As much as he loves Earth, he loves it here, too.

It's quiet here, and he can breathe.

Now if he could convince Crowley to miracle him a book and a cup of tea, it would be absolutely perfect.

"Did … did you hit …?"

"No, I didn't hit the nuns," Crowley grumbles, offended that Aziraphale has to ask. "Just gave them a bit of jolt. Got their old tickers going."

"I see." And though Aziraphale is glad to be here (especially with no evidence of carnage staining the windshield), he has to ask, "How is _this_ a solution to your reckless driving?"

"We've stopped, haven't we?" Crowley turns in his seat and puts his arm around his angel's waist, pulling him close. "Now we can go as slow as you want," he whispers, starting his own trail of kisses down Aziraphale's neck. "Can take all the time in the world, actually ..."


End file.
